


We Dance In Dark Suspension

by poemwithnorhyme



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/pseuds/poemwithnorhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Danica's human pet, Hannibal catches the eye of Deacon Frost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Dance In Dark Suspension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrapbullet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/gifts).



> Originally posted August 14, 2010  
> Fic title is borrowed from "The Horror of Our Love" by Ludo.  
> While reading this fic, please operate under the assumption that more highly sophisticated vampires can choose when they infect a human. Just go with it, :)

Danica's parties were always that of a flamboyant style, an exhibition of her wealth through and through. But not solely her wealth; also her property. Every major event, she'd be hanging off some new, pretty morsel, be they male or female – as rare as the latter was.

This late September gala was no different. Except it was. The particular candy Danica advertised this time was intriguing, where her former pets had been boring to say the least.

This one had defiance written in every line of his surprisingly muscular human form, accentuated by a constricting black tank top and loose, promising jeans. Furthermore, he had a delightfully vulgar mouth on him. Danica had finally developed some good taste. Or maybe Frost had Asher to thank for discovering this little delicacy; everyone knew what a picky eater he was. He likely gave the human to his sister as a treat; a decision he was largely regretting, considering the envy in his eyes as he gazed hungrily at the two.

“Where'd you get this one, Danica?” 

Danica paused her clearly unwanted pawing in order to look up, her patented lop-sided, malicious smirk making its way to her lips. “Frost. How good of you to come...”

She gazed at her toy, who had his eyes planted squarely on the ground, though judging by the working of his jaw, he was just _itching_ to say something. “This little thing? Oh, we just stumbled on him, didn't we, Asher?”

The vampire laughed, nodding as he reached forward, running his hand amidst the kneeling human's tawny hair. The man pulled his head to the side, extracting yet another cruel chuckle from Asher, who leaned back on the luxurious velvet red couch he rested on.

Asher raised his narrowed eyes, promptly serious, “Why, do you like what you see?” There was a hint of mockery in this voice.

It was well known that Frost despised humans. The few he kept as pets were never allowed in his bed chamber, unlike many other vampires who used them for both snacks and sex. He opted more for the undead, like him. He was unnecessarily stringent about this unspoken rule.

And so, the congregation gathered around the Talos siblings, as well as his own company, were stupefied to hear him speak most emphatically, “Yes, I do. I thought you'd never ask.”

Mercury reached out to entwine her fingers around his arm as a reminder. She was the only vampire he'd ever become attached to, and though she wasn't the jealous type – being relatively certain of her place in his stagnant heart – she did not approve of the fact that she might possibly be replaced by a human; even for one night.

Danica's grinning mouth shut quickly, confusion stretching across her face. He could see the gears of her mind writhing to life. The same effect was currently consuming Asher as well.

They both knew it was not intelligent to forbid Frost anything. Although he was not a Pureblood, and therefore not a corporeal power in their society, he was not one to fuck with. He had made that clear. And everyone had heard whispers of his plans, not exactly what they were, but that it would be best not to get involved or oppose him. 

If they were to rebuff his request, he would undeniably take that as an insult. But, yet, they did not wish to part with their leashed dog. They had recently commenced his training, preparing to sculpt him into the personification of an immaculate pet. When his humanity bored them, they would change him. They had their plot, and Frost had no role to play.

“Oh c'mon, it's not like I'll kill him. I'll return him all safe and sound tomorrow night. No harm done,” Frost raised a brow, “Or does a mere human mean so much to the two of you?”

He knew he had them. They couldn't reject him without harming their ruthless reputations now. He smiled as Danica's lips creased into a livid scowl. “Fine, Frost, you can take him. But remember, he's ours. He's not yours to kill or turn.”

Frost nodded, “Of course not. Don't worry your pretty little head over it.” 

He glanced at Quinn and a few of his lackeys, gesturing towards the human. Two of them lifted him up by his upper arms, and still, he spoke not a word. Before, he'd had such an elaborate vocabulary... There was something up his sleeve. Let him go ahead and try. At the very most, it would result in asinine violence.

Once they were out of the apartment and walking down the hall, the human embodied his prediction by making a dreadfully silly mistake. In a short scuffle, he was somehow able to disengage the vampires holding him; but in a seconds time, Frost had him by the throat and up against the wall. 

Not all that flustered, he looked to the vampires currently crawling off the ground and calmly smiled. “Decent attempt there, King.” He'd heard Danica call him that and, judging by the pissed off look in the man's eyes, he had assumed accurately. King clawed at his wrists to no avail.

“You got farther than most could. You can fight. Perhaps you were a cop before Danica got to you?”

A flicker of frustration. Yep, correct again.

“Well, you're not one anymore. You're a helpless fawn surrounded by a pack of wolves. You should start acting like one before you really get hurt.”

Yet, he wasn't entirely fond of the prospect that his recommendation might be exercised. He'd seen the fight simmering to the surface in King, and that was what he'd liked so much. But, in a morbid way, he was on target. If he acted like the rest of the pets did, then Frost would not have been so totally fascinated and they would not be in this situation. 

“Oh, is that so?” King said, well, grunted really since Frost was cutting off the majority of his oxygen supply, “I've never been very good at taking advice, so I think I can safely tell you to shove your pretentious bullshit up your ass.”

“Hmph, quite the mouth on you.” His fingers outlined King's mouth as he leaned in, gossamer blue eyes capturing mahogany ones. “I like that.”

“You think you can scare me with that cliché trash?” Hannibal scoffed, “You ain't got nothing on the psycho twins in there.”

Frost was not in the least bit perturbed, which had been King's flimsy goal. He sneered, revealing his sharp incisors. He was used his fangs frightening mortals like King, but then again, the humans he dealt with were generally unacquainted with vampires. 

He switched his grasp from his fragile windpipe to his remarkably sturdy wrists, pinning them on each side of his head, pressing their bodies closer. His thigh edged up towards the man's sensitive crotch.

His mouth was near King's throat, who had inadvertently assisted him by turning away. His fang reached out to nick the stark purple vein beneath, sucking on the tiny squirt of blood he procured. King flinched, breath haggard and strained.

Frost pulled from the bubble of delectably bitter caffeine mingled with a hint of underlying sweet sugar – scrumptious nuances of his former life. It was not an extraordinary combination, but he could detect more flavors yet to be discovered, all sealed within his precious lifeline.

“You do not like to be bitten, King? So unlike your kind... Pets should beg for it. Beg to be bled, and _filled_ ,” he laid more pressure onto his groin, emphasizing his meaning, “and bled again. It is your only purpose.”

“Oh really? Tell me if I'm doing it right...” He turned to face him, and Frost pulled his lips from the wound in favor of witnessing the show King would put on.

Rather than experiencing some derisive display of desire, he was on the receiving end of a headbutt. It was enough to jolt him backward, but he refused to let go. A low growl curled in the base of his throat. He was not at all used to being hit by a fucking human, of all things.

His eyes glinted crystalline, cautionary, but there was still no fear in King's auburn light depths. “Be careful. I may find your antics amusing, but only for so long. Don't push my generosity.”

In private, this sort of fight was more than welcome. However, he would not be made a fool of in full view of his men, and especially Mercury.

“Generosity? Fuck you, you bloodsucking parasite.” 

Reverting to his composed self, Frost released him to land a startlingly harsh punch on his face. He could smell the burst of blood in the air as King spit a glob of it onto the floor. The scent riffled through him, renewing his appetite. He'd had a small meal before arriving at the party and was therefore capable of not devouring the man right then and there. And that was the sole reason for his discretion.

He heard Quinn laughing, and making some dumb comment to get his attention. He was tuned out. Frost wasn't in the mood to humor him tonight.

He snapped his fingers and this time it was Quinn and one of his more trusted men who took over King. As they made their way to the car and then onto his flat, he mostly neglected the man, choosing to dote on Mercury.

During their many fervent kisses – more languid than he'd ever profess to – Frost listened to King's colorful remarks. Something about 'stupid cock gobbling cum-guzzlers' and 'raging thundercunt', plausibly directed at Vanessa, God knew she merited the title. 

To Quinn, he distinctly heard “why don't you take a picture there, big guy? It might last longer, you ugly, pit-faced assbitch.” Then there was some conversation about the fact that he was too cute for this shit.

Frost couldn't refrain from smiling. Mercury no doubt thought it was because of her.

~~~~~ 

“Gotta give it to ya, Frosty, these are some nice digs.”

They were alone in Frost's apartment. The various pools of water shimmered off the walls, giving the dark room an iridescent quality. Hannibal was hiding his nerves by smart-mouthing, as usual. 

There was an echo of pain in his jaw from where he had been hit, not to mention the throbbing in his skull from that insanely moronic decision to headbutt a fucking _vampire_. Specifically one that had been able to intimidate Danica and Asher into giving him up for a night. That meant the undead creep in front of him must have been as strong as Satan himself. In addition, the circumstances themselves were royally fucked up. He was not a piece of meat to be bartered.

“So, is that your real name, Frosty?” He hoped that the nickname might irritate the vamp, but he was getting no reaction thus far. Didn't mean it wasn't affecting him. “Cuz, damn, your parents must have been two sadistic motherfuckers.”

Frost pivoted on his heels, striking him with another one of those soul-piercing gazes. His eyes were just so god damn blue! Danica and Asher were all about the dark, where Frost surely lived up to his name; whether it was his real one or not. Likely some dumb vampire name. So lame, like some immature teenager. Too bad it was actually badass.

Frost walked towards him, glance never straying, “I do appreciate your conversation, King, but that is not why I brought you here. I assume you know why?”

Hannibal flashed one of his smarmy grins, “My charming personality?”

Frost was an arm's length away, smiling in a slanted manner and exposing one canine tooth. “That was definitely part of it, sport.”

Feeling crowded, Hannibal began to back up. He should have known by now not to heed such instincts. They molded him into more of a weak prey than he already happened to be. Suddenly, his back collided harshly with a wall made of glass, steel shrouding the outside of it. Must have been made to shield the sun.

Frost was at his throat once more. He'd used that speed of his. Hannibal hated that inhuman shit! When he felt the smooth surface of Frost's tongue ghost over the drying blood from before, his hands jumped to the vampire's shoulders. It was not an aggressive gesture. He simply wished to acquire his acknowledgment.

“Hey, hey! Cool it, tiger. You should at least take me out to dinner or something first. I'm starving. Don't want to be rude, do you?”

In response, Frost bit in deep. 

Hannibal groaned, “Fuck!” He tried to pull away, and normally wouldn't get far except the vampire chose to liberate him. “C'mon, this is ridiculous... Can't taste that good with no nutrients.”

Frost raised his head, visibly licking his lips. The crimson receded to a somber pink, as if the color had been drained out of the typically vibrant flesh. Which, he supposed, it had.

After being appraised, outright uncomfortably if Hannibal had anything to say about it, he was curtly turned to face the wall, “I think you taste fine, so quit your bitching.”

Frost's frigid chest was at his back, his marble-cold hand slipping underneath his shirt to journey up the taut ridge of his vertebrae before moving to his torso. His free hand rested idly on his hip. Hannibal shuddered, closing his eyes. He was sick of being these bastards fuck-toys.

“You know, you're the only human I've wanted in over a century,” Frost said as his fingers continued to pillage his heat.

“Oh, lucky me.” Hannibal clasped his curious hand from the outside of the fabric, squeezing firmly. “I was serious about that date first.”

He could feel the rumble of the vampire's laughter, matching it exclusively for the hell of it. “No, really, you god damn corpse. You gotta court me or wait in line like all the other dirtbags.”

“Oh?” Frost took his hand out from underneath his shirt, twirling the man around by his shoulders. He flung him back into the wall. Hannibal readily gritted his teeth, all too acclimated to abuse. 

“Is that why you spread your legs for Danica and Asher? They _court_ you, so you let them do whatever they want?”

It was as if Frost had doused him with gasoline and set him aflame. Anger at his predicament surged zealous and caustic in his veins. He had always been impulsive, but lately he'd been exerting a bit of control over that characteristic of his. Not tonight, because before he knew it, his fist had made solid contact with Frost's face.

It probably hurt Hannibal a hell of a lot more than the vampire, but it was enough to get him to take a step back. Frost was virtually in hysterics, behaving like a nutter who had escaped the psych ward.

“Hit me again, King. Do it, I fucking dare you.”

And he was desperate enough to try. He was shocked when, once more, he made his target. He didn't stop with two. Retreating into the mindset of his cop education, his foot cracked into Frost's head, dropping him to the floor.

Finally, Frost fought back, grabbing his fist when he tried to hit him again, eyes that inconceivably translucent blue as he stared up at him from his kneeling position. He grinned, fangs longer than before, and that was when he knew he was in trouble.

Without a warning, he was staring into the glossed, wooden floor. His arm was twisted behind his back while Frost straddled his hips. When he tried to raise himself up, the movement pushed his arm further out of joint. Hannibal hissed and ceased all activity.

Frost laughed, leaned down to his ear, surprisingly hot breath ghosting his skin – vampires could abstain from oxygen-intake at any time, but many breathed merely because they could. 

“Oh, King King King... You've no idea how much you entertain me.”

“Glad I could be of service, you gimp dicked freak. Can I go now that I've given you a good chuckle?”

He nonchalantly bypassed his oh-so unique choice of words, “You wouldn't want to leave before I give you your reward, would you?”

“Not so sure I wouldn't.” 

The vampire grinned anew. Hannibal always had aspirations of being able to conveniently shut himself up and stop provoking these cocksuckers, but he didn't work that way. Frost let go of his hand, slithering down his body. His shirt was ushered up, directly succeeded by the titillating sensation of a tongue chasing the indentation of his spine. 

His back arched reflexively, trapping a lewd groan before it escaped. Sure, this was a vampire, and he was nothing more than dinner, but he was still a guy, after all. And besides, Frost had caught him off-guard with this unusual tactic. 

He was up to the base of his neck now, and Hannibal's nails had all but dug into the floor in an attempt to withstand his endeavors. He kissed the frail skin at the crux of his shoulder. He could feel the malevolent simper enveloping Frost's lips.

“Danica and Asher got it right with you. You are one in a million, King.”

Hannibal rolled his eyes, “Man, I get so tired of being told how great I am. Why don't you show me instead of telling me?”

For the life of him, he could not be silent for even a minute.

“Oh, I will. I'm going to fuck you so hard, your feeble human brain won't be able to comprehend a god damn syllable after I'm finished.” 

Frost rolled his hips into Hannibal's ass, grinding ever so subtly before gliding his fangs so easily into his brimming veins – stocked because Danica and Asher had wanted him healthy for their party. Sadistic fucks.

They both knew how to bite without infecting, but they were not endowed with total discipline due to their tempers – a reality they would never confess to anyone else – and so they ordinarily just bled him, beat him, and screwed him.

With Frost, it was clearly going to be otherwise.

Hannibal's mouth gaped, frozen in pain. There was always an edge of elation to a vampire bite. Before they defiled them with their disease or simply fed from them, some sort of toxin dedicated to the subjugation of their victims was unleashed. It was the reason so many of his kind volunteered to be familiars; they enjoyed the thrill which accompanied being bitten, as Frost had stated earlier.

And he was right. King was no such man. Be it genuine will-power or something every bit as inexplicable, he had proven himself to be practically immune to the enchanting symptoms of their innate allure.

How could anyone covet being at the mercy of a merciless creature, of being powerless? He hated to admit it, but this was when he was afraid. Scared of a vampire finally going too far and taking his life, scared of being made into one of them as Danica so often threatened. He didn't want to lose his humanity, his control – they were ruled by their thirst alone, like animals. He didn't ever want to be debased like that. Every bite, he prayed to be left with a still beating heart afterward.

Hannibal was released, feeling somewhat muddled, but nothing compared to the Talos cruelty he was accustomed to. Frost licked around the injury, going back to the shell of his ear, nibbling the thin flesh enough to breach it. Hannibal winced, pulling away, but unable to get very far. 

“I can taste your fear, King. Not so brave underneath all of that arrogance, hmm?”

For once, Hannibal had no clever insult to whip out. What could he say? Blood didn't lie. As Frost turned him over with scantily any effort, indignation simmered and remained evident in his eyes.

His captor smirked, “Good to see I haven't driven that delicious insolence out of you quite yet.”

He stood up, stepping over Hannibal, who loitered there. His mind retreated to moments when Asher would kick the shit out of him when he went down. And why not? He'd at least be too numb to notice much of anything after. Seemed beneficial at this juncture.

Frost watched him, signaling him to follow. Yeah, right. He wasn't going to walk into that room quietly; he knew what would happen there.

“It's either on a bed or the hard-ass floor. Your choice.”

Hannibal didn't move an inch. Frost rolled his eyes, “I get it. You want me to beat you until you comply? Understandable. You don't want to seem willing. Fine. I can give you that excuse, if you really want it.”

Hannibal's cheek unceremoniously smacked against the floor, his tongue snapping out to taste his own blood at the side of his mouth. Before he could lift himself up, his gut was wrenched to pieces by a brutal kick.

“Jesus Christ, what are you fucking wearing!? Steel-toed boots?” he muttered through scalding lungs.

He'd meant to think that, but he often lacked a barrier between his mind and his mouth. Not that it mattered, he knew Frost wasn't.

“Change your mind? I assure you, this makes no difference. I'm going to make you beg for me no matter.”

“Bullshit. I doubt you have the ability to make me beg. You don't give off the impression of being all that experienced, Frosty. A proper lover would have already had me laid out, naked on velvet and eating chocolate bon-bons.”

Frost chuckled, “Vivid imagination. Maybe next time. But tonight, I promise you, you'll ask me to fuck you.”

He was no longer playing Hannibal's games. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up, all but dragging him to his bedroom. Apparently it hadn't been his choice after all.

Instantly, Hannibal was disconcerted by the sheer amount of white in the room. It was enough to blind him. There was a computer in the corner, but other than that, everything was maddeningly pallid. Even the bed, which appeared to be a gigantic box slowly opening to reveal a large mattress. 

“How innovative.”

Frost tossed him onto the bed, disregarding his words. The door closed behind him, bolting of its own volition. 

Hannibal clambered into a sitting position, where it would be easier for him to fight – he didn't even know why he bothered. He would lose. He _always_ lost. 

Frost was taking off his belt, slowly and in a fashion which was oddly captivating. Next, he unbuttoned his shirt, eyes never leaving Hannibal. 

“Good, don't undress. I prefer to rip your clothes to shreds anyways.”

Leaving on his fancy, snug leather pants, he crept into bed. Hannibal did not back up this time. He stared at him, trying to gauge his next move. His opponent beamed at him, cocking his head to the side. It was the strategy of a cat and mouse. Moving every once in a while, the other reacting accordingly. Well, mostly Hannibal. Weary of the ruse, Frost seized both of his ankles, pulling him forward so abruptly all he could do was fall onto his back. 

Hannibal attempted to kick him, but the purchase on his ankles was too strong to break. He growled, vexed with his failure. He lashed out, his blows avoided as if he was attacking in stop motion.

“You bloodsucking bastard! Slow down so I can fucking hit you!”

Frost maneuvered his legs up onto his shoulders, freeing one hand to fasten his arms above his head, while the other literally tore open his shirt.

“Hey, douchebag, that was my last good shirt!”

He threw the tatters to the ground, exploring his chest before moving down to his pants. He undid the belt, and the top button, allowing for closer inspection of the degrading tattoo on his pelvis.

Frost didn't miss a beat, his lips sucked almost delicately on the black glyph before slipping into the flesh. Being an overly susceptible portion of his body, Hannibal tightened up, grunting his objection.

“Fucking bitch, that hurts!” Yeah, that's not all it did.

Frost paused, gazing luridly up at him. “You should have been mine. I would have given you immortality, power, and you would have wanted it. But Danica and Asher, those pitiful imbeciles, made you afraid of it. If I'd found you, I would have made you perfect.”

Hannibal raised a brow, “Ego much?”

“I still could, King. I could change you. You would stay by my side, and, eventually, you would grow to love me.” Hannibal rolled his eyes, but Frost continued, “As a vampire, you would be my equal. You have my passion, my ambition, I can taste it in you. Better than even Mercury...”

“Alrighty then, I think you forgot to take your crazy pills today, Mr. Delusional.” 

“I'll show you everything you could have, if you were to say yes to me...”

“Uh huh, right.”

Frost resumed his physical ministrations, for that Hannibal was almost thankful. Except, this included their first kiss. And it really was a kiss; compassionate, soft, enticing. The stubble around his lips was coarse on Frost's icy skin; he wasn't certain that he didn't mind the sensation. The vampire reached under the waistband of his pants to gingerly grasp his previously uninterested cock.

Initially, his grip was cold as winter, but as they shared in his human warmth, he became flushed. His touch was no longer disturbingly chilly; which did nothing for Hannibal's resistance.

There was no qualms about who he was with – a bloodthirsty leech – but nonetheless, he found it more difficult to not respond appropriately. Danica and Asher were very rarely kind about their seduction. It was always uncouth, demanding, sometimes suggesting affection only to transform into unadulterated carnage.

Danica would sometimes...

As if knowing his mind was wandering, Frost simultaneously bit his lower lip and tugged on his groin, respectively banishing all rumination.

“Don't think about them. I can tell you are. You are not with them. You are with me.”

This was too weird. The ambiance exuded the calling card of _lovemaking_ , contrary to what it was supposed to be. Rape. This was rape, and yet it had none of the typical staples of such a savage deed. He was mindful of what reaction Frost was pursing, and he would have none of it.

He sought to shimmy himself away, reaping no success. He subsequently started to laugh, “Stop. This is... You're a vampire, not some lovesick teenager. Drop the act and fuck me like I know you want to.”

Frost's azure gaze caught him, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! I just hate to see anyone not be able to be themselves, that's all.”

The vampire smiled, “How sweet”, and then – honest to god – gave him a fucking eskimo kiss.

Hannibal stared at him, bewildered. 

“Just because you know a couple vampires doesn't mean you know them all, King. I'm not as heartless as you might think. But, if what you want is a vicious monster, I'll give you precisely that.”

Without fanfare, he sunk into the incisions on his neck, this time truly drinking from him. Hannibal's mouth was wide, not a sound exiting, as his body bucked up into Frost's, paroxysm spilling through every fiber. 

His skin visibly blanched, Frost was taking too much, too fast. He felt as though his very soul was being sapped away. 

Ultimately, when his thirst had been sufficiently quenched, Hannibal was liberated to strive for unimpeded breath. He was paralyzed, nerves disabled by the unexpected loss of blood. His eyes were bloodshot and stinging.

Frost nipped at his mouth, devouring it next, smearing scarlet before messily licking it up, “Not very fun, is it? I may be naturally rougher than your human fragility is used to, but if I am going to have someone in my bed, I'd rather them not be catatonic.”

He snatched his chin, “Judging all vampires to be the same is equal to the crime you accuse us of, Hannibal.”

He knew his _name_. He panicked, “How did you...”

Frost sighed, “There is a lot you don't know about vampires.”

Hannibal swallowed awkwardly, not even knowing what to think about what just happened. The vampire climbed off of him, a victorious expression on his face. 

He gradually recovered tactility, generating first with a tingle in his fingertips. When he could sit up, which took what felt like an eternity, he did so. It triggered further dizziness, a swell even more potent than before and he tumbled backward.

Still addled, he was barely cognizant of Frost peeling off his pants and boxers and crawling between his thighs once more. He remained enthralled by the punch-drunk haze even when Frost began to stroke him.

His hips slanted to meet the touch, utterly forgetting where he was. Vampires were far from his mind; it was as if he was back in his own world. Work eight to five, nameless and faceless fucks every few weeks – as glorious as they often were.

He moaned obscenely as a mouth which was irrefutably amorous, tinged with the slightest hint of ice, surrounded his tip, teasing. Nails tore across his chest, somehow enhancing the fog of euphoria and resulting in a burning path of carmine flesh. 

“Holy fuck!” 

He salaciously asserted what he wanted by tangling his fingers in the hair of the talented individual, pushing them downward. They wrenched themselves from his appeal, leaving him desiring so much more.

The dissolute bliss was brusquely severed as reality literally pierced the opaque veil of rapture in the form of a bite.

Hannibal jerked up only to be guided back onto the blankets. He opened his eyes, which he had not even realized he'd closed, and gazed down. There was Frost, gaze confident and taunting as he drank from his thigh, holding his legs apart to achieve a more suitable angle.

And it felt _good_.

He was more aware than ever before, and that was his problem. The cloud produced by poignant bloodloss had allowed for Frost's poison to affect him; an experience he'd never intimately encountered before.

He covered his face, embarrassed, fingers pressing into his eyes in disbelief. He liked it, this intoxicating agony-ecstasy. He had not anticipated this phenomenon. Red-hot flares of lecherous misery ravaged him, merging in throes of malady and jubilation so persuasive he was quickly succumbing, and essentially happy to do so.

“You fucking asshole...” He most certainly didn't sound as incensed as he'd planned.

Frost had long since ceased feeding from him, but the venom in his veins was there to stay. The vampire was now concentrated back on physical reinforcement, fingers coiled around his dick. His hands were forcefully removed from his eyelids as Frost kissed him, well, more like nudged his lips open and pliant. 

Hannibal felt too overwhelmed to even struggle. He was assailed by exhilaration as it exquisitely permeated down his spine and seeped into his limbs, rendering him mindless.

Impelled by unrestricted revelry, he reciprocated the kiss, rewarded for his submission as the vampire increased his efforts. Frost pulled from him, nuzzling into the side of his neck. He lightly rolled Hannibal's earlobe back and forth between his teeth. 

“I told you I'd show you.”

His hand promptly left his groin, as if penalizing him for his earlier skepticism. He reached towards the edge of his bed, taking something out of a drawer. Hannibal felt him graze his entrance with the obtained lube, and he immediately jerked away. Frost caught him before he went very far, a hand clutching his hip to keep him steady. 

It was amidst this interval that his volition sluggishly began to reappear. Had he kissed Frost? Fuck, he definitely had. Why had he done that? Abashed, he squirmed beneath the pressure of his grasp. His arms shot out to push him off. He was batted away like a mere insect. It stood as no surprise that the vampire was unfazed by his convalescing conscience. Granted, he went through the motions, but even Hannibal had accepted there was no chance for him to prevent the inevitable.

“Shhh, don't worry, sweetheart.” Frost slid a finger in, “I'll make you feel good. I'm sure Danica and Asher never bothered to fuck you as soundly as I will.”

He went back to covering his mouth as he proceeded to prepare him. It was a moderately easy affair, as Hannibal was a far cry from being a blushing virgin. However, Frost was accurate in his assumptions that he seldom felt pleasure from his tumbles with the Talos siblings. They were far too intrigued by hurting him. That was not to say he had not felt the odd orgasm here and there, but it was rare indeed. 

Furthermore, he preferred it that way. Nothing to enjoy or look forward to. It was downright torture. In Frost's case, well, he was familiar with the affliction called Stockholm Syndrome.

Frost audibly unzipped his jeans, withdrawing his fingers and pushing in fairly gently. Ending the one-sided kiss, he revisited his ear, tenderly sucking on the nick he'd created earlier. From there, Hannibal could _feel_ every transition in the cadence of his breath as he penetrated deeper. 

Frost neatly fit the sleek contours of his body, leading to a dull ache as the last genuinely discernible pain present. Lingering in tandem was deceptive sensuality.

“Jesus, Hannibal, you...”

No, Hannibal refused to hear it. It would be something infuriatingly common, like how tight he was, and he was sick of having to listen to that shit. And so, he cupped Frost's face, instigating a kiss; a warranted sacrifice if it accomplished his objective.

Alas, Frost was a spiteful son of a bitch, drawing from the attempt in order to pepper his neck and chest with his lips. He was following the trail left by his prior adventures, lapping up the leaking vermillion. He tantalized the area around his groin with his long, tapered nails.

He developed a rhythm, a beguiling medium between languid and frenzied. “Holy shit, King, you feel fucking fantastic.”

Hannibal could never not suffer such compliments. His fingers were now buried in the sheets, resisting the temptation to emit some positively disgraceful noises. His endeavors were wholly defeated as Frost intentionally slammed into the sparking spot inside of him. He clenched around him as his body pulsated with satisfaction.

He keened, making vocal all he'd been restraining. Frost pulled at his length, completing the crescendo for him. A string of indisputably gratified cuss words ensued, the pale room spinning around him, dappled with vivacious heat.

“Oh god...” 

Frost laughed into his neck, “No, not yet, my sweet.”

The vampire was close, he could hear the husky indication in his voice. Suddenly, he halted, looking down at Hannibal with pensive eyes.

“You are so stubborn, so reckless, just like me. Just like me...”

He resumed his movements, rocking into him more deliberately now, as if he'd made an exceptionally significant decision. That alone horrified Hannibal, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was trapped.

Frost traveled to his post at his throat, his hackles raising in apprehension. 

“They don't deserve you.”

Hannibal's eyes widened with realization. “Frost? Please, don't do this.” Like any plea on earth would aid him now.

The vampire predictably sliced through the still fresh wound despite his entreaty. His blood abandoned him for the seventh time today, and he knew it would be the last.

He could pinpoint the exact moment the virus invaded, coupling with Frost's nearly violent orgasm, usurping cells and destroying any enduring fragments of mortality. Death resembled a crushing weight of malignant vertigo, both corporeal and evanescent.

His nails delved into Frost's back in a futile attempt to get him to come to his wits. But the vampire had set his mind to this. He could only groan, incapable of piecing together any eloquent opposition. His consciousness was deserting him. Soon, he was scrabbling to maintain his grip.

Eventually, Hannibal's arms fell uselessly to his side, body becoming slack. Color faded from his vision before he shut his eyes, losing sight altogether. Imposed sleep overtook his racking heart as he lost himself in dreams of depravity.

~~~~~~~

When he woke, he was screaming. 

“Shh, it's alright. We all scream.” A hand swept his hair back from his appallingly clammy forehead. 

“We all scream,” he repeated in that insincerely considerate voice of his.

“That's supposed to fucking help?! You worthless piece of shit, I'm going to kill you.”

But he was out before he could even try to snap his neck.

~~~~~~~

He woke at least four times after that, sometimes crying, other times shouting, and one time, so he was told, absolutely calm.

He couldn't remember any of it, all except the unmitigated anguish. Frost had kept him sedated for the full 72 hours, so that when the anesthesia wore off, he was no longer solely a man.

The reality that he was a vampire settled in when he murdered his first human, a tiny, lithe brunette. Frost had starved him, goading him by bringing his own meals into shared their room and feasting on them there. Frost would coax him to partake, but Hannibal's conviction stayed strong. Withal, he could only deny it so long. There was a consistent rumbling adjuration of his stomach in response to the invigorating scent of blood in the air, until it was impossible to brush off his hunger.

She had tears in her emerald eyes, cheeks stained by the track of fear. He stole her life, using it to sustain him; he was nothing but a monster.

From then on, the hatred only flourished. He detested being a vampire. Every day, he felt his sanity drip away, the humanity he'd always prized being stripped from his blood-slicked fingertips.

“You promised not to turn me, Frost.”

“Promise? Hannibal, _darling_ ,” accentuated for ridicule, “you know promises mean nothing to a vampire. They made the mistake of giving you up. Now you're mine. Deal with it.”

He had thought for sure that his new state would be enough to initiate a bit of a war between the Talos siblings and Frost. But who was he kidding? He wasn't consequential enough for that. At the worst, Danica and Asher's reputations were a little scorched and there would be an eternal grudge. Nothing paramount.

“Oh, and call me Deacon. You're part of the family now, after all.”

~~~~~~~

Mercury hated him. Not that he blamed her. It was apparent to everyone that he was Frost's favorite, as young and inexperienced as he was; an role she had once joyfully filled.

Hannibal thought that his creator would lose interest in him shortly, and that he'd be able to run. But no, of course not. Frost never took his suspicious gaze off of him, and he made sure to take time out of his busy schedule every damned day to spend time with him, whether it was to train him, or to fuck him senseless.

Hannibal despised him. Despised the way he yearned for his touch, the way he was actually proud of himself every time he earned his master's praise and how his place in Frost's world gave him such ranking over other, drastically older vampires. None should have been aspects that he took sick solace in.

The tattoo proclaiming ownership over his body was gone now. Frost, in an astoundingly possessive fit, had cut it off. What healed over, scabbing first, pock-marked with blotches of scar tissue and pink veins, was smooth, unblemished alabaster flesh.

He was grateful that he no longer had to be burdened by the residual image of Danica and Asher, but concurrently, he wondered if he was forgetting how it felt to be strictly prey. Not to mention he was beginning to cherish the last moments of a kill; that quivering exhale before he extinguished their mundane souls. He felt addicted to the power. And Frost knew... Fuck, did he know alright.

So submerged he was in their society that one night, during a rooftop party, a familiar had clearly displeased Frost and they gorged upon his blood together. In front of all the guests, whether they knew them or not.

Flooded by the adrenalin of the kill and high from Frost's fervor, he licked the crimson stains like a dog when they were offered. 

Yes, once he stepped away and attained coherence, he knew one thing for certain. He needed to get out of here before he lost sight of himself entirely.

~~~~~~~

Blade was a name he'd heard once or twice, but after Quinn's arm became a stump, it was on the tongue of every vampire, from low-ranking to Frost himself. 

And it was in Blade that he discovered his opportunity for flight. Frost was distracted by this new threat, and in that, he found a hole. 

The Daywalker had been found, only a few minutes after the human had been killed, and a group had been sent out to capture him. His creator trusted him enough to send him as well, likely taking his recent cooperation as a sign of devotion. He assigned both Quinn and Mercury with the task of arranging that he came back in one piece.

The second they turned their backs, he ran. And they were well educated of his escape. But they let it happen, speculating that Frost would do no more than chastise them. It was a risk they could live with.

But to have their status be degraded below that of a fledgling for the rest of eternity, including Frost's reign as La Magra? That they could not handle.

~~~~~~~

Running into the Nightstalkers and not being shot immediately was pure luck. To have met a woman willing to listen to his story? Cosmic fucking intervention.

They had offered him a way out, and the decision had been an uncomplicated one. He'd never wanted to be a vampire; they were parasites on this earth, remorseless and malicious.

He was given the cure by their scientist, Sommerfield . It was not easy. It felt much like withdrawal, as he was confined in a cell all alone for days. He was given food that he seldom ate, spending his time shrieking and clawing at the cement wall as the gene fled his system and his DNA was once more forcibly altered.

He was a human once more, retaining all of their imperfections and none of his immaculate gifts. Even with his flaws, he remained a force to be reckoned with.

In return, he gave the Nightstalkers his knowledge and his aptitude as a fighter. He became one of them, advancing in the ranks as he demonstrated his loyalty. They had been wisely hesitant of him before they all realized exactly how much he wanted to take down the vampires. 

It would have been an understatement if he said he merely enjoyed killing them. He fucking loved it. It was his calling in life. They had taken his innocence from him, and so he took their degenerate existence.

He and Abby found common ground rapidly and became fast friends. He admired her fortitude, and she his. Together, they were a fast-moving and efficient team. The rest of the group took to him gradually as well. Notably Sommerfield's daughter, Zoe. He'd always had a way with children; he amused them almost as much as he amused bloodsuckers.

He felt as though he'd found a home in this fucked-up world. People with similar intellects and a mutual goal. 

He would always be a little unconventional, but they did not treat him as such; for which he was glad. They knew he was trying to forget his past. Abby often told him he didn't have to fight his demons alone. Not anymore.

He would laugh and end the conversation before it began with a witty comment. She never took it further than that, doing no more than smiling, albeit her eyes stayed insistently perceptive and anxious. She could sympathize with what he was dealing with, even if she had thankfully never gone through it herself.

She understood that the memories he was battling were constant. Looking back on how swiftly he had fallen was disgusting. He'd fought, maintaining his silver tongue, but once faced with perpetual decadence, combined with his natural vampiric inclinations, he'd surrendered to Frost and his wiles in no time at all.

Yet, even considering his disdain, he found himself pining for such delirium, to be able to once more let go of all constraints. It was murder he craved, to exercise supremacy over the deplorable lives of lesser beings. 

He'd thought his reprehensible appetite would lessen bit by bit with every eradicated vampire, but, if anything, it was amplified. Vampires were not enough, because he knew what he truly craved. Human souls were so much more satisfying to shatter.

It was a festering remnant of his former self, and he did not want to involve anyone else. It was not his right to drag someone into such a complex jumble of emotion. He would have to surmount these disturbing compulsions, and he'd do it on his own.

The worst of it came during his slumber. Frost would plague him as a tactile ghost, all roving hands and bitter yet legitimate censures. The vampire would always exhibit the ability to interpret what lay hidden within his wicked subconscious; no matter in what shape he appeared in.

The day he met Blade, introduced by Abby's father Whistler, he felt as though he'd encountered a kindred spirit. The Daywalker, half-vampire himself, adored wiping leeches off the earth even more than Hannibal did. Though Blade didn't like him as much as he'd hoped, they worked well together. He had been wary of Hannibal at first, primarily because of his insider information. He, like the others, steadily accepted his brazen allegiance and came to respect his enthusiasm.

The two teams were one, yet remained divided in location. Whistler ventured it'd be less hazardous that way.

After Abby's dad was murdered – guess he was wrong about that whole separate thing – and Blade's not-quite girlfriend, Karen, was kidnapped, the Daywalker just had to go all suicidal and decide that ambushing Frost was the best conceivable solution. The Daystar was not ready to be used, and so they rushed in without a concrete plan. Not the most shrewd idea ever concocted, but nevertheless, he and Abby refused to let Blade to go without backup. 

Unfortunately, while the Daywalker was thoroughly distracted by his mother, they were tasered; incapacitated as Blade was. They were both stripped of their weapons and left defenseless. He supposed their lone victory was that they were not tasered into a stupor like the Daywalker. 

Or so he thought. After being hustled to his knees by none other than Quinn, his body twitching with the after effects of man-made electricity, he caught sight of Frost.

The vampire was already watching him, Mercury uncharacteristically missing from his side. Instead, Vanessa – he should have known she was Blade's mother, the dirty cunt rag – was hanging all over his shoulder.

The vampire shot her a glare, one that transparently said 'stop fucking touching me'. She hastily withdrew her hands, knowing well enough to do as she was told when he was angry.

Frost made his way over to him, those cobalt blues once more engrossing him. He felt an odd tug overcome him, one that caused his vision to swirl and his heart to beat so fast he suspected it might break out of his chest.

He could feel the collective pang of desire pulsating from the group of vampires – they could hear the rush of his blood. It was no different with Frost, whose eyes were half-lidded, breath a near moan. It was the siren call between a creator and a fledgling, designed exclusively for them but nonetheless effecting all those capable of sensing it. 

“What pervs. Yeah, especially you, Quinn. Sick, man, just sick.” 

Quinn cracked up, as if it was all a big joke. Frost took him seriously, knocking the vampire away in a hot second. 

His ex-maker gazed down at him, quirking an eyebrow. Hannibal's dirty-blonde hair had grown since he'd been with Frost, a fact he callously took advantage of as he hoisted him up by it, fingers curling snugly around his throat.

He winced from the pressure, beginning to gasp, light-headed as hell. Frost said something or other, but the buzz of oxygen loss was a roar in his ears. Abby might have said his name too, but that could have feasibly been an hallucination.

He was released, crashing to the ground where he fought to regain complete awareness. He leaned his back adjacent to the wall, needing the support to stay off the floor.

“Human. Weak.” Frost was unquestionably perplexed by the evidence before him.

“Good to see I can still surprise you, asshole,” he said with a defiant tick in his cheek.

“Everyone leave. Take Blade with you.” Frost glanced at Mercury, who was holding Abby, letting her know she was authorized to stay. She and her prisoner.

Soon everyone was gone, including the comatose form of Blade, except for Quinn who thought he too had been excluded. “You too Quinn.”

“But, Deac, man...”

“You have to guard Blade for me. You're the only one I trust enough to do that.”

Convinced, Quinn grinned like the idiotic oaf he was before exiting.

Frost knelt down by Hannibal, his presence utterly stifling.

“My disobedient pet...” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “You should have at least had the intelligence not to come back. Now I have to punish you.”

Hannibal didn't waver, he spat in the vampire's face, following up with a very clear “Fuck you.”

He received a hardy smack for his efforts. His lip broke, blood tainting the air. 

“I see you brought your girlfriend too... And you know how I loathe to share.”

He recognized the threat. A resounding torrent of dread immersed his spine. Regardless, he deftly preserved the obnoxious tone of his voice, “Keep her out of this. This is between us, you prick.”

Frost chuckled, caressing his hair mockingly, “You've no idea, King, how much I've missed that mouth of yours.”

His fingers looped around his chin, drawing him in close. Frost's mouth was twitching in ardor, displaying his fangs with an obvious purpose. “I'm not going to make the mistake of letting you go again.”

“I'm not yours to keep, Frosty.”

Frost's uncommitted hand traced the outline of the bite on his neck – now a blatant scar – briefly scanning it before reexamining Hannibal's brown, furious orbs; “Oh, really? I can prove it to you, right in front of your _friend_ over there.”

He forsook the permanent imprint of relinquished immortality, instead stealing his way to his groin, grip rousing him to reluctant attention. Hannibal jerked back heavily into the partition, knee flexing out to kick the vampire away. As anticipated, all attempts were either negated or ignored. Frost's lips went to Hannibal's ear, reminiscent of the old days and causing him to panic.

What if he turned him again? Right here? Now?

“She can see everything from there. _Everything_. Does that turn you on? We never did get to the kinky shit...”

“Let me go, f-”

To shut him up, Frost kissed him none too gently. All feral and desperate. He made the error of once more adhering to his instincts, his teeth snapping down when he tried to deepen the kiss. Frost retaliated, thriving on the blood which culminated strong and heady, Hannibal's mouth ignited with sores and lacerations.

It was impractical to not imbibe smidgens of the vampire's blood, and it stirred impatiently inside of him, greedy for more. Images from his months as the vampire's beloved slave was evoked, their connection just as distinct as when he had been one of them. 

He had, comparatively, lived luxuriously. Indeed, there had been suffering, but it blended evenly with gluttonous carnality. Frost had treasured him, all the while Hannibal had been treacherously plotting how to accidentally push him out into the path of the sun. The vampire was certainly taking measures of revenge now.

His mouth ached for freedom. He grunted in pain, wishing that agony was all there was to focus on. Alas, Frost always did relish toying with him. His hand remained at his groin, encircling and compelling, duplicating the apparitions pervading his mind to the tee. 

His touch was like ice, as always, but promptly heating up. He was talented, as he remembered, and it was challenging not to slip back into meek compliance solely from prior conditioning. 

There was no debating it, his nightmares were finally becoming tangible.

The vampire's diligence brought every clandestine urge he had to the surface. It was difficult to contend with Frost's persuasion. He knew each arcane secret he kept padlocked behind clusters of mental barricades, and how to manipulate them.

Hannibal persistently attempted to push him away, only to find himself bending to the curve of his embrace as recollections jerked him from past to present and back again. The humiliation was suffocating. Tears formed in his eyes from the excruciating shame, but he locked them there, prohibiting their fall.

Frost employed all of his tricks, inciting Hannibal to finish quickly. Frost retreated from the kiss in time for a scarcely suppressed moan to escape his prey's throat. 

“See, you do still want me. Don't even try to say you don't. I _know_ you." He drew a cum-slicked finger into his mouth, savoring the salty tang that was Hannibal, "You're not fit to be anywhere but with me.”

Hannibal let fly with his fist, and Frost allowed him this, laughing at his pathetic attempt. He stood, yanking Hannibal up and flinging him onto the all too familiar bed, placing a finger to his mouth when he tried to speak.

“Shh. Stay here like a good little bitch and I'll be back soon. I'm not finished with you yet.”

He turned with a smile, walking out the door. Mercury and Quinn trailed after him – Abby obligated to join them. He could feel her assuredly disappointed gaze on him, but he didn't even have the courage to look at her.

He'd never told any of them specifically how he'd become vampire, meaning, who had been his maker. The topic had never really come up. He'd only told them he'd been in Frost's fold, enough to know details.

That had been a dire oversight on his part. He'd never wanted Abby to find out the truth in such a demeaning manner. 

Once left alone, he buttoned his pants back up, cleaned himself off as best as he could, and pointlessly tried to open the door. He lingered in trepidation, pacing the room, fingers agitated fists at his side. It took all he had not to punch the wall. 

When the door finally hissed open, Hannibal didn't delay his attack. Faithful to his patented luck, Frost was prepared for him, ensnaring his hand in his own and driving his knees casually into the tile.

Frost applauded, “Bravo, Hannibal. You've managed to embarrass yourself twice in one night. Are you done now?”

“Actually, as a matter of fact, no.”

He rose to his feet, but despite his haughty declaration, he did not try to assault him again. Instead, he waited with bated breath. Frost walked to his bed, sitting on it with his legs out and crossed at the ankles. His hands held him up as he canted his head to the side.

“How did you become human?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Well, I assume it was your Nightstalker buddies who did it. Just thought maybe you'd give me the easy answer rather than me having to torture every single one of your friends.”

“Yeah, right. If you knew where they were, you would not have been so shocked to see me. So you can take your threats and shove them up your ass.”

Frost grinned, “Feeling nostalgic, are you? That's the first thing you ever said to me. Warms my heart to hear you still feel the same.” 

Hannibal rolled his eyes, “I see your ego has gotten even more bloated since I've been gone.”

The vampire permitted the jab; there was more significant matters to discuss than his justifiably large ego.  
“I have decided something, King. After I become La Magra, I am going to bite you again.”

He let the realization settle, savoring the palpable horror illustrated on every facet of Hannibal's body. He meticulously walked towards him, pushing Hannibal more and more into a corner. 

“Predictably, you will refuse to kill. But don't you worry, my pet, that's an easy fix. I will simply wait until the hunger is too much, then I'll give you the pleasure of ripping your dearest Abby apart.”

It hit him like a sledgehammer. How he'd learned her name held minor importance. He'd keep her alive, expressly to utilize as his first meal. He swallowed hard, tasting copper even if his lips had ceased to bleed.

“You will be so shamed by your actions that you'll willingly crawl into my arms once more, if only for a place to ease your guilt. You will be the Blood God's Childe, his second in command. You will have more power than you can imagine; and no where to run because I will rule this world.”

“Bull-fucking-shit, Frost.”

He was pressed against the wall now. Frost placed his hands on either side of his head, smirking as though he'd already won. “No jokes, no insults? Nothing more to threaten? That's not like you at all, Hannibal.”

Frost's thumb pushed down on the plush of his lip, cracking open the cuts from before, receiving no response. “Or is it because you want that to happen? Do you yearn to be my lover again, Hannibal? My favorite? Are you regretting ever leaving me?”

“Screw you.”

He smiled, “You are. I can tell you are. There's a part of you that wishes for immortality again. I'll give it to you. I'll forgive your transgressions and allow you the Gift. You once claimed I was merciless... well, I'll show you just how merciful I can be.”

He leaned in, nipping at his neck. “You test my resolve, King. No one has ever made me lose control like you.”

“Why don't you tell someone who gives a rat's ass?”

“Always playing the brash hero. That's fine. I've seen you at your lowest, and I'll take you there again. I'll build you back up, make you perfect; like you were before you were soiled by those fucking hunters.”

Frost backed away, sniffing as if he was bored, chin up. “Anyways... no time to waste. See you later, pet.”

The last thing he saw was a pale fist, and then darkness.

~~~~~~~

The tumult of the van woke him once on route, jarring enough that he smashed the back of his head on the unyielding metal. His hands were tied. It was dazzlingly black, and he could not help but begin to hyperventilate. 

“You're okay, Hannibal.”

It was Abby's soothing voice. He used the sound of the syllables to guide his eyes to her. She was diagonal from him, tied as he was. Dismay washed through him; what she'd seen...

“Abby, I...”

“No need. Especially not right now.” She was not angry with him. That was a good sign. Or perhaps it was her professionalism talking. “Do you know where they are taking us?”

Now that he had somewhat adjusted to his somber surroundings, he spotted Blade in the corner, Karen opposite of him.

“The Temple of the Night,” he replied.

Blade said something about needing his serum, and Hannibal knew right then that they were as fucked as a ten-dollar whore.

~~~~~~~

The trip to the center of the Temple was needless to say very cumbersome. The lackeys delighted in flinging them around now that they were crippled and in no position to fight back.

Blade was barely functioning, propelled into lethargy by his hunger. Hannibal could relate to that, but even so, he'd figured a Daywalker would be stronger than that. 

At least they were not alone in their captivity. The elders around them must have hailed from the House of Erebus. They were the sacrifices. Once they arrived, Frost coasted into a spiel about the history of the Temple and the House's negligence. He, of course, ended with poking fun at the disabled Daywalker. 

Hannibal rolled his eyes; Frost was getting tedious. The only part he chanced appreciating was when he fucked with Quinn. God damn, he hated that egotistic asshat.

His awfully inadequate optimism soared when Frost handled Karen's miracle cure. He knew what that could do; it was their endgame. But their fortune proceeded to worsen as Frost halted, staring down at the containers before glancing at Abby and Hannibal. They gave away nothing, but yet recognition blazed brightly in his eyes.

He turned to Mercury, “Did they have these as well?”

She nodded, sharing in his epiphany. She grabbed the liquid from her lover, taking a few vials out to dispense into the body of a condemned Pureblood. His flesh swelled and ruptured, alarming all of Frost's less apt crew and further intimidating the Council members.

Frost scoffed, “Wow. Well, that would have been quite the buzz-kill.” 

Mercury handed the EDTA to an superfluous minion, who would take it as far from the Temple as viable.

Unless they were able to hinder La Magra's summoning by some fortuitous twist of fate, they were defeated before they'd even began. What the hell were they going to do now? He looked to Abby, who appeared just as mortified as he was.

Frost returned to harassing Blade, “It's still a shame, y'know. When I think of what you've become... What you should have become. I guess I don't blame you. I mean, with everything that's happened, it's the human side of you that's made you weak. You should have listened to your blood.”

“Say what you want. I promise you, you'll be dead by dawn.” 

Hannibal had to hand it to Blade. Even when reduced to to a diminished shadow of himself, he still managed to deliver a badass parting line. Quinn laughed, deceptively unruffled. On Frost's face, however, he swore he detected an iota of concern. Hannibal was probably just inventing that for his own benefit.

“Get him out of here. And get these fucks downstairs! Mercury, take Abigail here with you.”

He rounded on Karen next, whom he seemed to harbor plenty of contempt for. Hannibal chuckled, distracting the vampire from her.

Frost was in his face, eyes sharp, “And what is so funny, Hannibal?”

“Oh, just how you haven't changed. Karen rejected you, didn't she? That's why you're so determined to scare her.”

He cocked his head to the side, “You would know, wouldn't you? Take her to the pit, Quinn.”

Hannibal smirked as Frost prodded him down the stairs. He was careful about his step, not wanting to make a fool of himself by tripping.

“Nice place you've set up here. Very Egyptian. There any mummies lying around? I've always wanted to see one.”

Frost didn't rise to the bait, mind likely preoccupied with how well his magnificent scheme was progressing. Dick.

Hannibal knew that without the EDTA, they were in trouble. There had to be another way, wasn't there? He scanned through their not extremely encouraging prospects as Frost stood watch. When Quinn showed his revolting mug, he was jostled into the relentless arms of Mercury as Abby was given to Quinn. 

Everything was in place. Blade and Vanessa were up top, the House was in their stations, Karen had been presumably dispatched of – which was yet to be verified – and he and Abby were secured and vulnerable.

He had to think fast, the tick-tock of the clock was bearing down on them. He could think of nothing as the timbre of the air descended thick and smothering around them. One of the House made the error of belittling Mercury's place in Frost's decaying heart. 

She, using Blade's sword which she'd been holding quite close to Hannibal's throat, nailed his ashes to the wall as a testament of her will. 

Independent of her grasp, this was his opportunity. He took a step forward, only to go nowhere as she seized him once more.

“God dammit, woman!”

No escape, no plan B.

The tension was asphyxiating as blood rained from the ceiling, branding the foreheads of the damned.

“Is everybody thirsty?! I hope you're all very fucking thirsty.”

Frost strolled around the stone platform, positively on top of the world as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Now why is that necessary? Gratuitous nudity, that's what.”

Mercury's fingers dug deeper into Hannibal's arms, warning him not to say another word. He couldn't stop himself... when things got climatic, he alleviated it with sarcasm. It helped him concentrate. Yet, in this situation, he didn't think that would aid him in the least.

When a bead of ruby plummeted into Frost's supplicating form, it would have been appropriate to say that all hell broke loose.

Lightning erupted from symbols lining the cylindrical center, striking the vampires fringing the circle. The volts expelled what could only be labeled as the 'Pureblood spirit', but they looked more similar to winged demons, fashioned by skeleton and proclaiming death. 

Hannibal's eyes widened, “Holy fucking shit! What the fucking fuck are those things?!”

Mercury must have shared his sentiment, because her touch had vanished. She was cowering behind a column; Quinn as well. He and Abby were free, and in this chaos, he could not have devised a better moment. 

Disposing of a couple nearby vampires was as easy as stealing music off of the internet. They gathered their guns and went at it, the deafening clamor of wings at their backs. An eerie silence abruptly plunged over the Temple, but they dismissed it. They had a job to do.

They tried not to split up; not being in sync when there was an army to combat would surely prove to be a complete catastrophe. 

But he had not factored in those out for his head. He hit a pillar, then was tossed onto the platform. Frost was no where to be seen, but Blade was. Hannibal had to muster his wits within a second so not to become a pancake as the Hunter landed gracefully from the top level. Still on all fours, having had hardly enough time to scurry back, he stared up at the Daywalker.

“Show-off.”

The half-vampire guided him up, a rare display of respect, and then turned to his task. “Frost!”

Blade was fucking pissed, and he had plenty of parasites to let it out on. Quinn was his first victim, from whom he retrieved his favorite pair of sunglasses.

Enemies were piling up, even with Abby eliminating them from the outside. Hannibal didn't have time to contemplate even a semblance of a strategy. It was all about staying alive, hands moving as fast as possible to keep up with the onslaught.

But then there was Mercury, gunning straight for him. So she had been the one to separate him from Abby...

Hannibal was alone; Blade had drifted to the borders now. She was a virile vampire too, more ancient than her youthful face insinuated. She reached for his throat and he blocked her, twisting her arm into a grip she easily escaped. He punched her in the face, and she smacked him ten times harder.

“I'm really gonna enjoy this now!” She licked her lips as she bared her fangs, charging with only his expiration on the agenda.

She didn't get very far before she was pulled back, a furrow of burgundy emerging on her elongated neck. The fatality had been inflicted by a sword. He could not see who wielded the weapon, but he had an idea.

“I guess I can forgive you for being a little late there, Blade. But try not to cut it so close next time, okay?”

Clutching her throat, Mercury was skewered before she crumbled not at the feet of the Daywalker, but at Frost's. Only, it wasn't him; was it?

His eyes were entirely composed of red, and there was an aura about him not wholly _Frost_.

“Son of a whore! You've got to be fucking kidding me!”

The vampire smirked, cocking a brow, smug as hell.

He fired his shotgun, the projectile passing through the creature only for the skin to restitch itself as if it'd never occurred. Oh, and it used blood to mend itself too. Neat trick.

Hannibal took a step back, swearing profusely. Couldn't he ever have any luck? “Blade! It's _definitely_ La Magra!”

Frost, La Magra, who the fuck ever, latched onto his neck, lifting him up as though he were a feather. “Don't want you to get hurt, now do I, Hannibal?” 

It was his voice for certain, but the sinister lilt to it terrified the shit out of him. He was launched back into the wall, so severely that it almost felt like his spine had been broken.

He was sure it was a symptom of shock, but that didn't alter the fact that he couldn't move. He viewed the fight from where he lay, groaning and striving to get up in spite of admonishing spasms. 

Consolation arrived when Abby materialized at his side, Karen on his left. There was no more vampires to neutralize; they'd handled the mass of them. They propped him up so that he could at least support himself on the dank concrete partition. He worked on unraveling his back, the tendons crunching as he forced them to be useful once more.

In front of them, Blade and La Magra compared their skills. But it was an unambiguous contest. Even with the Blood God's sword having been taken from him, short of some miracle, the Daywalker was going to lose. 

Blood sprayed everywhere only to be soaked up by La Magra's instantly regenerating limbs. Even Abby's barrage of bullets were disregarded as mere annoyances. Eventually, the recently turned God became tired of flaunting his abilities. 

“My turn.” 

Blade slammed into one of the columns, a stone's throw away from the three of them. The two continued to spar, but there was frankly no leverage for the Daywalker to exploit.

It was in his failure to match La Magra's tenacity that he truly suffered. One well aimed fist to his temple was all it took to immobilize him. La Magra pried Blade's own sword from his weary fingertips and without hesitation, decapitated him with it.

Karen, gun in hand, gained the God's attention as she cried out in grief. Abby held her back, but the doctor didn't seem to comprehend what was good for her. She elbowed Abby and pursued the target of her rage only to be executed as naturally as slicing through margarine.

La Magra observed her hemorrhaging carcass with a listless sniff, “It's too bad. I kinda liked her. What a waste.”

Even before Karen's corpse hit the ground, Abby and Hannibal knew they had to get the fuck out of there asap. He was still partially wounded, but his tolerance towards pain allowed him to overlook his injuries.

But it was to no avail. Their flight was obstructed 

“Leaving so soon?”

Flinching, Hannibal stepped in front of Abby, shielding her from Frost. There was no doubt it was the Blood God, but he and Frost were joined. If Frost wasn't in there at all, well, he'd be lying on the floor in gory portions. 

“I admire your resilience, Hannibal, but you're not fooling anyone. Can you tell me why you left me? Give me one good reason, and it can't be 'because you're a vampire.' I want a real reason, and if you can give it to me, I'll let you and your girlfriend live.”

Hannibal didn't falter, “You want to destroy everything I hold dear.”

Frost smiled, “How boy scout of you, King. Is that so? Well, what about this little conundrum? I've won. You've lost. This world is mine now. I'll do with it what I want. Would you rather be immortal, by my side, or fighting against a revolution you can't possibly hope to survive?”

Hannibal threw him arms up, losing his patience with this ploy, “Why are you doing this? Asking me these god damn questions... You could turn me if you wanted, I wouldn't have a fucking choice in the matter. What do you really want from me?!”

“Your submission, what else?” 

Hannibal scoffed, “And that would be important to an almighty Blood God why?”

“I never lied to you. I desire an equal. I want someone worthy to share my bed as well as my power. I believe that is you, once you get over your well-intentioned ignorance, not that it isn't frightfully endearing...”

Hannibal paused, gears grinding. He only had one plausible option to guarantee Abby's safety. He owed her that. He glanced at her as she shook her head, despair painting her features; “Don't you dare...”

“Give her your protection... All of them.” The Nightstalkers; his family. “I don't care what the fuck they do, if they are hurt, I swear to God, I'll kill myself.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hannibal, please don't do this. Not for us.” Abby was virtually begging him now.

He closed his eyes, nodding, worming out from her imploring grip. He was ready to do what was required of him. “Get out of here, Abby.”

“But...”

“You should listen to him, sweetheart. Hannibal knows best,” Frost chided. Abby turned the full force of her glare towards the vampire but nonetheless began to retreat.

“We'll get you out,” Abby vowed. Hannibal just smiled sadly. They would try. They would not succeed.

When she was gone, Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief. She would stay alive amidst this scourge; she and Zoe and Sommerfield – every one of them. He'd supervise their health personally.

“You were never suited for a human life anyways,” Frost commented triumphantly, “Still had the urges, didn't you? The desire to kill, to slaughter... Otherwise, you would have fought me more on this.”

He didn't argue with him. He had a point, and perhaps he would have ultimately buckled under the gravity of his intensifying impulses. He would never know for certain either. 

Frost tilted his head up by his chin, descending on his throat. Blood poured from the fissured scar; and so it was, the beginning of his fourth life. Meanwhile, a macabre cloak of crimson reigned over the sun, heralding a new era.


End file.
